


Kiss (If You Want)

by jakia



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakia/pseuds/jakia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  Kurt doesn’t talk to Blaine about being bullied when they first meet, and as a result, Blaine asks him out, and canon diverges from there. [Or, what if Kurt and Blaine made out in 2.06 like we wanted them to?]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss (If You Want)

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that I’ve been working on again/off again for a while now, so I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again to both rainbowrites (aka my fandom wife), who was a cheerleader for me while this was being written, and to the_multicorn, who beta-read this for me! Muchos gracias!

 

Right now, on November 9th, 2010, at 2:37 pm at Dalton Academy, Kurt Hummel is being kissed.  Not only is he being kissed, period, but he’s being kissed by a boy.  A charming, devishly handsome boy who happens to be gay, and who happens to be kissing Kurt.

If you had told Kurt Hummel six hours ago that he would be making out with a hot prep school boy in Westerville, he would have laughed himself silly.    
  
But as it’s  _actually happening_  right now, Kurt has to say he’s a fan.  
  
Blaine is just... _perfect_.  He is handsome, he sings, he’s openly gay, he flirts with Kurt (and in turn, makes Kurt feel brave enough to flirt back), and he makes butterflies blossom in Kurt’s stomach.  The fact that he’s currently kissing Kurt, heavily and passionately, is only another plus in his favor.  
  
Is this how Kurt always imagined his first kiss?  No. There are significantly fewer lilacs around for this to be Kurt’s dream kiss.  But right now, he honestly has no complaints.  None whatsoever.  
  
(There had been a moment there, when he thought to talk to Blaine about, well,  _everything._   About being bullied and hating himself, because once he found out Blaine was gay too, he thought maybe he would understand, maybe be able to share some advice.  But he stopped himself, and instead let Wes and David tease him gently about being a terrible spy, and gave them his honest opinion on their performance.  And then it was just him and Blaine, drinking coffee and laughing, and then they were kissing and  _God_ , this was so much better than crying like he thought he was going to.)  
  
Blaine moans against him, and he finds himself biting gently at Blaine’s lower lip, and just--kissing is so great.   _So_ great.  The fact that he has never been kissed before now seems like a terrible, terrible crime against humanity.  Seriously, why had no one ever told him kissing was going to be _awesome?_  
  
Or, well, it  _was_  awesome, until Blaine pulls away.  
  
He looks younger like this, freshly kissed and blushing.  Kurt wonders for a brief moment what grade his favorite kissing-stranger is in. “I, um,” he blushes harder, struggling to look Kurt in the eye.  “That was my first kiss.”  
  
Oh.  “Mine too,” Kurt admits, his own cheeks rosy.  He feels nervous suddenly.  “Well, I mean, my first kiss with a boy.  I’ve kissed a girl before.  This was…much better.”  
  
Blaine beams back at him, his eyes bright and proud.  “I’m glad!  I mean,  _I_ thought it was awesome, but I don’t have anything to compare it to, so.” He smiles widely, his grin infectious.  “I’m glad you thought it was good.”  
  
“It was very good,” Kurt blushes, nervous and hot and trying to stop himself from staring at Blaine’s lips.  “So good, in fact, that I wouldn’t mind continuing.  Um.  If you’d like.”

“Oh, I’d like to.” Blaine practically  _growls,_ and oh God, Kurt’s going to  _explode_.  It’s like his body can’t decide where it needs to send all of his blood more—his face or his dick.  Blaine leans forward slowly, until their lips are almost touching.  “I’d like to, a lot.”

 

* * *

 

Three hours later (oh God oh God he is so late Dad is going to  _kill him_ ) Kurt leaves Dalton with two hickeys, a phone number, and the promise of a coffee date (a date!  Kurt Hummel has a  _date!_   With a cute boy he spent all afternoon kissing!  _How is this his life?_ ).  For a brief and terrible moment, he wonders if maybe he dreamed it, if maybe Blaine is not nearly as into him as Kurt thinks, if maybe they are moving too fast or something, or, and he feels terrible about this, maybe Blaine is faking it for some reason. What if this is like Jesse St. James all over again? (Oh God, how do relationships  _work_ \--his brain won’t stop spinning and every thought that races through his head is  _Blaine Blaine Blaine_.)  

He doesn’t think Blaine is faking it, though, if only because Blaine texts him before he even manages to leave Dalton’s parking lot.   
  
 _Hi!_   His phone buzzes.   _I hope this isn’t too weird, but I kind of miss kissing you already. <3_  
  
Kurt doesn’t believe in God, but he thinks he could get behind the sentiment: he feels like getting down on his knees and worshipping whoever made Blaine Anderson.  
  
(Which boy was it in Glee club who pissed him off enough to go spy on the Warblers? Kurt can’t even remember at the moment—was it Puck or Artie?  Maybe it was Finn.  Oh, Kurt can’t even  _care—_ he’s going to bake the whole Glee Club a goddamn  _cake_ at this point, just to say thank you.)  
  
The fact that he manages to make it home alright is a miracle in and of itself, considering his mind is so far gone right now, off in some faraway corner, kissing Blaine Anderson. And while his father is worried, he’s also not  _stupid_ : Kurt doesn’t wear a dopey, stupid in-love expression home every day, you know.  
  
So his father sits him down and hands him a cup of (decaf, with low-fat creamer, Splenda instead of sugar) coffee and a half-warmed bowl of soup, and smiles.  “You wanna tell me about him?”  
  
It’s like opening a floodgate: Kurt  _literally_  cannot shut up after that.  He doesn’t tell his father everything, of course—like the fact that they spent three hours making out, and that Kurt’s scarf has been carefully arranged to hide the hickeys—but he does tell him all the important bits: how he held his hand, how he sang to him, and the color of his eyes, and the way he smiles.  
  
(Okay.  Maybe he over shares  _a little bit.)_  
  
But his dad is amazing, because he just smiles and listens, and when Kurt finally stops talking his father hugs him, tightly, and tells him he’s happy for him.  Oh God, Kurt is  _not_  going to cry, not now, not when he’s so happy, but he sort of wants to, so he holds his father tighter.  “I love you, Dad.”  
  
His dad kisses his forehead.  “I love you too, Kurt.  And hey—I still want to meet this boy, okay?”  
  
Kurt wipes his eyes.  “I know.  I’ll—I’ll introduce you, I promise, Dad.”  
  
His dad nods.  “I know you will.  And Kurt?” Kurt stops, turns, and looks at his Dad seriously.  “It’s okay to be happy, you know.  But maybe hold off on planning the wedding until  _after_ your first date?”  
  
Kurt blushes. It’s not bad advice, considering he spent half the ride home from Dalton debating whether Anderson-Hummel or Hummel-Anderson sounded better.  “Right.  I will.  Thanks Dad.”  
  
“No problem. And Kurt?” Kurt stops again, this time two steps closer to his room.  His Dad is smiling.  “ _Try_  and get some sleep tonight.  You still have school in the morning.”  
  
“Right.  I’ll try.  Goodnight, Dad!”

 

* * *

 

Kurt doesn’t go to bed.  
  
He gets ready for bed.  He showers, puts on his pajamas, does his moisturizing routine.  He lays down for bed, but sleep doesn’t come easy to him.  He thinks about calling Mercedes or Rachel, but he stops himself.  
  
Instead, he texts Blaine.   _Are you still awake?_  
  
 _I am.  Can’t sleep.  Can you?_  
  
 _No.  Can I call you?_  
  
He barely presses send before his phone rings, incoming call from  _Blaine_ _Anderson ( <3)_.  
  
“Hi!” Blaine sounds a little different over the phone.  A little higher pitched, maybe, like an over-excited puppy.  “So you can’t sleep, either?”  
  
“No,” Kurt confesses, feeling sort of scandalous: he’s in his  _pajamas_  talking to a  _boy_.  “I—keep thinking about our kiss.”  
  
“Oh, thank God.” Blaine laughs over the phone.  “I do too! I thought maybe it was just me being weird.” Blaine giggles, and Kurt feels… _something_ , hot and warm and bubbly, glowing in his chest.  
  
“Well, if you’re weird, then I’m weird.” Kurt says, blushing and glowing because  _Blaine is awake, thinking about kissing him, too._   “We can be weird together, at least?”  
  
“Oh, definitely!” Blaine smiles over the phone.  “So, I sent you a facebook friend request. That’s not—that’s not weird, is it?”  
  
“Of course not!” Kurt says, reaching over the edge of his bed to try and grab his laptop.  “I haven’t even been on facebook all day, hang on, let me respond.”  
  
He opens his laptop and enters his password and, oh, there he is.  One friend request from one Blaine Anderson, with a smiling, professional-looking school picture as his profile pic.   _Friend request accepted._  
  
“Mwhahaha! Time for the facebook stalking to begin!” Blaine laughs in his ear, and Kurt can’t even say anything because he was planning on doing the same exact thing.  “Oh wow, you’re from Lima, too?”  
  
Kurt almost drops his laptop.  “Wait, what do you mean,  _too_?  Do  _you_  live in Lima?”   
  
There is another gay boy in Lima, Ohio.  There is another gay boy in Lima, Ohio, and his name is Blaine Anderson, and Kurt has made out with him.  
  
“Yep!  All my life.  I never went to McKinley, though—I live about twenty five minutes from there, I think?”  
  
Blaine lives twenty five minutes from him.  Kurt could explode.  
  
“Ooh, a May birthday!  That makes you a Gemini, right?”  
  
“Uh, yeah.”  His brain isn’t working at the moment.  
  
“Cool.  I’m an Aquarius, those signs are compatible.  Oooh, you speak French? That’s  _awesome.”_  
  
You  _live in Lima_.   _L.i.m.a.  Near me.  Theoretically I could drive to your house right now, if I knew where you lived._  
  
“Yeah.  Um.  Where in Lima do you live?”  
  
“22 Hampton Court.  I’m like, three minutes away from the Taco Bell, it’s awesome.” Blaine tells him happily.  Kurt opens a new tab and types in google maps.  “I board at Dalton, though, so I’m usually only there on the weekends.”  
  
“Oh.  Well.  We’re going to have to hang out on the weekends, then.”  
  
“Oh, we  _definitely_  are.”  
  
Twenty minutes.  That’s how long it takes to get from 415 Whitman Ave to 22 Hampton Court.  Their entire lives, and they’ve only ever been twenty minutes from each other.  How many times could they have accidentally met, and never known it?  
  
“You’re a junior!  That’s awesome.”  
  
“Wait, you  _aren’t_  a junior?  What grade are you in?” Kurt asks, switching tabs back over to facebook.  “Hang on, your birthday is in February!  You’re three months older than me!  How are you only a sophomore?”  
  
Blaine gets quiet for a moment, and Kurt’s stomach drops.   _What if I’ve offended him?  Oh God, what do I do? What do I say?_  
  
“That’s kind of a long story,” Blaine says, finally, and Kurt breathes a little easier.  “Mind if we save it for another day?”  
  
“Of course!  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine says softly.  “It’s fine.  You didn’t know.  Like I said, it’s something I’ll tell you another day.  Now, tell me who this pretty lady is in your profile picture is before I get jealous.”

 

* * *

 

They stop talking, eventually.  It takes hours, though, and by the end of it Kurt feels like he knows Blaine so much more now.  He knows his favorite colors are green and pink, and that his favorite type of food is Mexican, but not in Ohio (“My grandparents live in Arizona and oh my God, Kurt,  _there is no comparison._ ”).  He knows that his birthday is February 5th and he’s three months older than Kurt, but a grade behind, for reasons he doesn’t want to talk about.  He knows that he boxes and fences and has a yellow horse named Buttercup, and when he shops for clothes for himself he buys almost exclusively from Brooks Brothers.  He knows that he loves Katy Perry and P!nk but also loves musicals, and  _Moulin Rouge_ is his favorite.  
  
 _Is it possible_ , he thinks, alone in bed at 3 am, still unable to sleep,  _to fall in love so quickly?_  
  
He logs onto facebook one more time, and changes his status.  
  
 **Kurt Hummel**  kissed a boy, and liked it.  
  
(Less than thirty seconds later, Blaine Anderson likes his status, and updates his own so it says the same thing.)

 

* * *

 

“Boy,” Mercedes tells him first thing in the morning, her phone in hand as he closes his locker.  “You’ve got thirty seconds.”  
  
“His name is Blaine,” he says immediately, because like he was ever going to  _not_ tell Mercedes, please.  “He’s a Warbler.  I’m in love.  Save me from Rachel’s wrath?”  
  
Mercedes grins, but loops her arm around his and drags him to the first class of the day.  “Alright.  I’ll save you.  But you are going to tell me everything, starting right now.”

 

* * *

  
  


“KURT.” He hears an hour later as he exits his first class of the day.  “You  _can’t_  date a Warbler!  They are our  _enemies!_   He’s probably just using you to get at our setlist!”  
  
He turns to Mercedes, who merely shrugs and pulls out her phone to check her texts. “Don’t look at me,” She tells him, not unkindly.  “I didn’t tell her.”  
  
“I thought you were going to save me from her wrath.” His eyes narrow down at Mercedes’s phone.  “Who did you tell, then?”  
  
“Um, Tina, Santana, Brittany, Quinn, Mike, and Sam, I think.”  
  
He groans.  “So the whole school knows?”  
  
“That’s probably a safe bet.”  
  
“ _Kurt_ ,” Rachel screeches, unused to being ignored.  “You  _cannot_ date a Warbler.  This is like Jesse St. James all over again!”  
  
He puts his hand on her shoulder, because despite all of Rachel’s crazy he is sort of fond of her these days.  “Rachel.   _Breathe_.  I haven’t leaked our setlist.  We don’t even  _have_ a setlist.”  
  
“Yes,  _but_ —“  
  
“Rachel.” He says again, and she stops.  “He’s the first boy to ever kiss me, and I’d like to think he did it because he likes me, okay?  Besides, we didn’t even talk about Glee.  And I went to spy on  _them_ , not the other way around.”  
  
Rachel pouts, but eventually lets up.  “Fine.  But they aren’t allowed to steal you just because their lead singer kissed you!”  
  
He laughs.  “Oh Rachel.  If anything, the Warblers might have to worry about me stealing Blaine.  After all, he already lives in Lima.  He could probably go to McKinley.”  
  
Rachel’s eyes sparkle, and he knows that he’s gotten through to her at last.  She wraps her arm around his and floats down the hallway to their next class.  “So,  _Blaine_ , is it?  Tell me everything.  What’s his range? Is he good? Are the  _Warblers_  good?  Can we get you to give him mono in time for Sectionals?”  
  
“ _Rachel.”_

 

* * *

 

It’s a long day, but at least it’s finally almost over.   _I’m in love with a wonderful guy._  He sings in his head, hopping down the stairs of the McKinley entrance towards his car.  It takes two seconds for him to call Blaine, and another two seconds for Blaine to answer on the first ring.  
  
“So, you sing. You’re into fashion and musicals.  You are a  _fabulous_  kisser.  And the best bit is, you’re gay and, for some inexplicable reason, into me.” Kurt  _purrs_  as Blaine tries not to laugh in his ear. “Assuming you aren’t secretly a pedophile or a serial killer or something like that, I’m pretty sure you’re my soulmate.  How would you feel if I proposed marriage along with our already pre-planned coffee?  I realize we’ve known each other for less than twenty four hours, but I think we could make it work.”  
  
This time, Blaine doesn’t even try to hold back his laughter.  ”I’d tell you that I don’t put out until at  _least_  the third date,” he jokes as Kurt unlocks his car. ”And I’d say gold is nice but silver matches better.”  
  
 _“Soulmates.”_  Kurt whispers, and Blaine’s laughter makes the butterflies start fluttering about in his stomach, and he wonders briefly if he might be right.  “So the Lima Bean at 4, right?”  
  
“Um, would you mind moving it back to 4:30?  I’d like to change clothes first, unless you’d prefer to see me in my school uniform again, which I can _totally_ do, I just, um—“  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt blushes in the privacy of his own vehicle.  “Go home.  Change clothes.  Besides, I want to see what you look like in normal clothes.”  
  
“I’ll wear something nice, then.” Blaine says shyly, and Kurt feels like blushing in response.  
  
“Well, not  _too_ nice.  It’s only coffee, after all.  Don’t want to be over-dressed.  Not that I’d complain if you were over-dressed.  I mean.  I like layers.”  
  
“But I want to impress you,” Blaine whines, and oh God, how is there still blood in his body?  It feels like it’s all in his face.  He’s tomato-red every time Blaine says  _words._ “Are you saying I  _shouldn’t_  wear a tie?”  
  
Kurt looks down at his own ensemble, the one he plans to change out of shortly.  Black jacket, patterned shirt.  He thinks about the clothes he has laid on his bed—the black slacks, grey button up, black vest, silver tie—and wonders if maybe he would be over-dressing a little as well.  “Um.  I won’t wear a tie if you won’t?  Um.  Unless it’s something cute, like a bowtie or something.”

“Oh my  _God_ ,” Blaine gasps.  “I  _love_  bowties!  I only have like, two because I never get to wear my own clothes, but I still love them.  I swear, if I ever go back to a public school or Dalton ever gets rid of their uniform, I’m going to wear a bowtie like, every day.”

Kurt mentally catalogues his own closet.   _Bowties, bowties, bowties._ He thinks about the steampunk one he wore earlier this week, and while he normally tries not to wear the same thing in one week, he’ll probably make an exception in this case.  It would be a shame for Blaine not to see it.  “Okay then.  I’ll wear a bowtie and you wear a bowtie, and that way neither of us will be overdressed.”  
  
“Alright then.  It’s a deal.  See you at four-thirty, Kurt Hummel.”  
  
 _I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, with a wonderful guy!_

* * *

 

Their date is magical, if far too short for Kurt’s taste.  This is probably because they spent most of their date making out in the backseat of Kurt’s Navigator, and time has a weird habit of going by far too quickly when you’re kissing.

When they finally stop kissing, which takes a while but they don’t mind so much, they end up getting coffee and talking fashion.  Which is sort of amazing, because Kurt doesn’t have anyone to talk fashion with, really.  He has Mercedes and Tina, true, but this is  _different_.   _Blaine_  is different.

Blaine’s a  _boy_ , like Kurt, and one who understands how disastrous the wrong shoes can be, and knows all the famous designers that Kurt knows, and reads  _Vogue_  unashamedly, and it’s just—amazing.  Blaine’s amazing.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s adorably dressed as well, in a gray tweed blazer, mustard yellow pants, and a blue button up with a red bowtie.  He looks like the boy version of Snow White, a genuine Disney Prince with his gelled curls and gentlemanly attire, and Kurt—well, Kurt sort of adores him for it.  Kurt sort of adores  _everything_  about Blaine, he’s starting to learn, the most important of which is that Blaine likes kissing him.

Which is good, because Kurt likes kissing Blaine, too.

He likes kissing him so much that it’s sort of overridden his every thought.  Before he even realizes it, it’s tomorrow, and he’s half-walking, half-floating to his next class, utterly oblivious to everything around him.

Which is why it comes as such a shock when Karofsky slams him into a locker, knocking him out of his Blaine-induced daydreaming, and—son of a bitch—breaking his phone as well.

He falls against the locker, and forces himself to breathe.

_It’s not fair,_  he thinks, angry, breathless, and hurt.   _I was having a wonderful day, and that asshole just ruined it.  And no one’s going to do anything about it, they just—let it happen._

His hand curls into a fist before he can stop himself.   _I’m going to do something about it._

He picks himself up off the floor, and chases after Karofsky with fire in his eyes.

**_You_ ** _don’t get to ruin this for me.  I’m happy.  For the first time in my entire life, I’m happy, and you don’t get to ruin that for me._

He slams the locker room door open; Karofsky doesn’t even turn and look at him.  “The girls’ locker room is next door.”

Kurt clenches his fist tighter.  “What’s your problem?”

“Excuse me?”

“What are you so scared of?”

“Besides you sneaking in here to peek at my junk?”

 “Right, every straight guy’s nightmare.  That all us gays are out to molest and convert you.” He thinks about Blaine—the warmth of his smile, the feel of his lips against his—and has to force himself not to laugh.  “Well guess what, ham-hock? You’re not my type.”

Karofsky stands, tall, looking down at Kurt.   If Kurt didn’t know better, he’d almost think his feelings were hurt.  But that was silly—Karofsky didn’t have  _feelings._  “That right?”

“Yeah.” Kurt breathes, fists still clenched at his side.  “I don’t dig on chubby guys who sweat too much and are going to be bald by the time they’re thirty.”

Karofsky slams his fist into a nearby locker, and Kurt forces himself not to jump out of habit.  “Don’t push me, Hummel.”

He swallows.  “You’re gonna hit me?”  Karofsky’s fist is in his face, now, but he’s not—he’s not scared like he thought he’d be.  “Do it.  Hit me, because it’s not going to change who I am.”  His eyes are bright and wild: he is braver now than he has ever been in his life.  “You can’t punch the gay out of me any more than I can punch the ignoramus out of you.”

“Get out of my face!”

“You are  _nothing_  but a scared little boy who can’t handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!”

Just when Kurt thinks he’s about to punch him, Karofsky does something entirely unexpected:

He  _kisses_  him.

And, oh God, it’s nothing like kissing Blaine.  It’s revolting.  Karofsky tastes foul, like chewing tobacco and beef jerky, and Kurt shoves him off of him the second he realizes what’s happening.

He leans in to kiss him again, and Kurt pushes him away harder than before.

_Oh God, Karofsky is gay.  Karofsky is gay, and he kissed me, and he’s gay. Oh my **God**._

He doesn’t know what his own expression looks like, but if it’s anything like what he feels inside (horrified, scared, oh God, this is so much worse than he thought it was before) then it can’t be anything good.

Karofsky looks at him like he just brutally murdered a newborn kitten, slams his fist into a locker, and stalks off before Kurt can even process what’s going on.

Which is good, because he’s going to vomit all over the place any second now, and he’d rather there not be witnesses.

 

* * *

 

 

After a lot of soul-searching, he decides to tell Blaine what happened.  Blaine, after all, is a gay teenage boy who had some point in the past  _must_ have been closeted as well, so if there’s anyone he can talk to about this, it’s Blaine.

That, and Kurt is still sort of traumatized and could really go for some cuddling right about now.  Isn’t that part of the boyfriend job description?  Must be available for cuddling on demand?  If it’s not, Kurt thinks, then someone needs to add it immediately.

And Blaine is a wonderful boyfriend.  He listens when Kurt tells him about everything—about Karofsky, about the bullying, and, eventually, about the kiss.  He learns a little bit about Blaine, too, about how he was once bullied and that’s what led him to Dalton, and Kurt’s heart warms a bit because Blaine  _gets_  it, Blaine  _understands._   No one has ever just…gotten it before, has understood exactly what he means, even when he doesn’t quite know how to put it into words.

Even better, Blaine is willing to hold him as he cries.  And that—that’s just amazing, because so many people don’t even want to touch him, but Blaine—

Blaine will take his hand.  Blaine will kiss him.  Blaine will hold him, cherish him, treat him as if he is something to be  _loved_ , not feared.

If Kurt wasn’t already absolutely stupid for this boy, he thinks he would have fallen for him anyway, just because he held his hand down a hallway and sang to him.

They don’t kiss, that night, which Kurt thinks is a little weird, but nice, too.  Instead, Blaine merely holds him as they watch  _The Bachelorette_ together, and offers to skip his afternoon classes tomorrow to go with Kurt to confront Karofsky, so he can’t kiss ( _assault_ ) him again, so Kurt won’t be so alone again.

“Then we can go have a lunch date.” Kurt grins, his head resting lightly on Blaine’s shoulder.

Blaine doesn’t say anything, just squeezes him tighter, and Kurt sighs happily, wanting to savor this feeling—of being loved, valued,  _cherished_ —for as long as he possibly can.

* * *

 

 

Confronting Karofsky is a disaster.  Kurt’s not surprised—really, he expected to end up in the dumpster.  Having Karofsky only shove Blaine against the chain link fence—while not  _ideal_ —certainly isn’t as bad as it could have been.

Not that Karofsky had listened to a damn thing they said, so nothing had been solved, really, but at least they tried.

“Why are you so sad?  Don’t let him get you down.” Blaine says cheekily, dapper as always in his Dalton uniform as they walk together towards Blaine’s car. 

Kurt cannot help but smile lightly.  “I’m not sad. I’m  _grateful_.” He looks around quickly, just to make sure they really are alone in the parking lot.  When he thinks it’s safe, he reaches down and squeezes Blaine’s hand gently.  “If I hadn’t met you, Karofsky would have been my first kiss.  Well.  The first kiss that counted.”  Kissing Brittany did not count.

He expects Blaine to kiss him: he expects Blaine to lean forwards ever so slightly, to capture his lips even briefly.  He closes his eyes in preparation, but it never comes.

Instead, Blaine squeezes his hand.  “Come on.  I’ll buy you lunch.”

He lets go of his hand and opens the car door; Kurt tries to swallow his disappointment.

* * *

 

 

It’s as they’re eating lunch at the Lima Bean, coffee cups and biscotti between them, that Blaine drops the bombshell on him.

“I don’t think we should date for a while.”

Kurt feels his heart stop, and tries not to immediately burst into tears.  “You’re breaking up with me?”

“No!” Blaine says immediately; Kurt glares at him, trying not to blink back tears.  “…Maybe.  Only a little bit though!”

He glares harder as Blaine reaches out across the table to take his hand.  Kurt thinks about not letting him hold his hand, but the gesture alone makes him offer his hand regardless. “Kurt, I think you are  _amazing._ I know we’ve only known each other a couple of days, but I think you are just the bravest person I’ve ever met.  You’re probably the most interesting kid in all of Ohio, and I really,  _really_  like you.”

Kurt stares into his mocha.  “So you’re breaking up with me because you like me and think I’m awesome? I don’t understand.”

Blaine’s eyes soften, and he squeezes his hand gently.  “You’re just—you’re going through some  _really_  tough stuff right now.”

“What, and you think breaking up with me is going to make that  _better?_ ”

“I think you could really a friend right now, and I’d really like to be that friend.” Blaine’s eyes are soft and warm, and as much as it hurts Kurt to hear this, he thinks he understands.  “I  _want_  to spend time with you, Kurt.  And I want to get to know you more.”

Kurt smiles sadly.  “You just don’t want to kiss me.”

“No.  I want to kiss you a  _lot_ , actually.  All the time.  Every time I see you, really.” Kurt flushes from his cheeks to his toes, flattered and awkward all at once.  “It’s just hard to get to know you with my tongue in your mouth.”

Kurt looks down at his coffee.  “I  _like_  your tongue in my mouth.”

“I know.  I do too, I just—“ Blaine blushes softly.  “I want to date you.  But.  Later.”

Kurt blinks back softly.  “So…we’re not really breaking up.  We’re just…taking a break.  Until this Karofsky situation is settled, at least, and then we can—“ He places his other hand on top of Blaine’s.  “—start over where we left off?”

Blaine smiles warmly.  “I’d like that.”

 

* * *

 

END CHAPTER


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